Also there today: a link to a lenghty LA Weekly-article on Raymond Chandler, who died 50 yearsago this week, after drinking himself todeath - and whom we (should...) remember as"the person who elevated the lowly mystery to therealm of literature. As a damn funny writer (...)The King of the Simile. The Bard of the Bad Blondes..."

28.3.09

26.3.09

Feeling tired and clumsy yesterdayevening, but still in the mood for afresh stitch, I got out a pile of out ofuse sweaters and pyjama pants, cut some rectangles,sew them together...

...and added a rose. Looks quite good -considering that some of the discardedclothes were already bought second hand... I think I´m going to make a full size blanketthat way - fine project for times ofclumsiness

"Father has a business strictly second handEverything from toothpicks to a baby-grandStuff in our apartment came from fathers storeEven things Im wearing someone wore beforeIts no wonder that I feel abusedI never get a thing that aint been used

Even our piano in the parlorFather bought for ten cents on the dollarSecond hand pearlsIm sick of second hand curlsI never get a single think thats newEven jake, the plumber, hes a man I adoreHad the nerve to tell me hes been married before!

One more time!Everyone knows that Im justSecond hand rose(from second avenue!)From what? Lets see if you know the fills!Once while stroolingThrough the ritz a girl got my goat...(she nudged her friendAnd said oh look there goesMy old fur coat)You dont need me!

Everyone knows that Im justSecond hand roseFrom second avenue!(ya cant beat the egg-creams!)Good! second avenue!(there is more between meAnd fifth avenue, I tell ya)Right! second avenue!"

the city´s a changing from shadow to lightabove the trees . liestiredness, protecting me &making me look around - a gap, the wind´s coded -one word . gap between trees as ifhaving lost one´s way with the pram .from one tiredness into another -my searching doesn´t discover anything it makesvanish .what remains . when the windceases . beneath the greenat the pond - what is visible thenthe trampled gras of a track

22.3.09

Went to see an exhibition yesterday:Tuchintarsien/Inlaid-Patchwork since 1500,in the Museum of European Cultures.It shows wallhangings and tapestries intextile intarsia technique with applicationand embroidery - all made from cut pieces ofleftover woollen cloth.Here´s one from 1719, depicting the TurkishWars...

All the animals (except the belligerent littlewhite dog) on the whole thing are decorated with dots...Amazing and inspiring what amounts of untiringcare must haven gone into this.

"what do you need? a tree a house togauge how great how small our human lifehow great how small when you look up to the top of the treeand get lost in the lush luxuriant greenhow great how small when you think how shortyour life compared with the life of treesyou need a tree you need a housenot all for yourself just a corner a roofto sit to think to sleep to dreamto write to be silent to see your friendthe stars grass flower sky"

17.3.09

Did some stitching experiments,inspired by illustrations in "Sticken mitFreude" (Embroidery with Fun), a thrift storebook from the 70s, and made a tote from it...

By the way: A while ago I posted a link to Advanced Style,saying one doesn´t see much of that kind of stylein Berlin. But we do have Stil in Berlin (it features youngish people though), so:Hooded-sweatshirts/ridiculous-pants/wool-caps-indoors capital- or Queen of Style...?

And here´s proof that it is possible to writeinteresting poems (with or without metre...) about clothes...

"Mother and Dad are up with the light. As in most marriages,one walks slightly ahead, and with their two sets of eyesthey enter the outside world, drive to the mall, and findracks of clothing on sale. Dad admires a pair of lightweightoutdoor shoes. Mother puts them back, saying that he canhave them when it’s warmer. She buys me a bathrobethe color of moss. Vigilant, a couple patrols its territory.

In the afternoon, Dad comes downstairs and says, "Katherine,there are no clothes in my closet." Mother goes up to the bedroom,and, sure enough, only two or three things dangle on hangers.She searches high and low and finally finds his clothes in the eaves.In an unremembered moment, he had opened the Alice in Wonderlanddoor and draped them in there. What was going through his head?He loves his clothes so much, he returns to them many times each day.Perhaps he thought they were in danger, and, like a mother cat,moved them to a safer spot."

14.3.09

12.3.09

"Time in becomes time out. Group anxieties becomepersonal doubt. Expressing ourselves in dots dotsand dashes. Pure cocaine and false eyelashes.Living inside words that seem to lie. Living insideexcuses that pass us by. Living inside lonelinessbecomes a high. Living gets mixed up with wanting to die.A daily question of going insane while tormenting oneanother trying to ease the strain.Dreaming of tomorrows we'd like to know.Repressing our thoughts while trying to grow.The heart and soul are not involved.Idle chatter becomes reality while problems go unsolved.Prearranged. Prefabricated and preconditioned.We're baptised, advertised and posthumously mentioned.Weaned and groomed for the glory of applause.Living off the mercy of unwritten laws.Shell shocked patrons making peace with God, whileadmiring the acrobatics of a junky's nod.Turned into robots through the power of suggestion.We seek an answer and become the question.Afraid we might die before we live.Blessed with life but then afraid to give. We want to beamorous, glamorous and larger than life.Our cheap illusions become high priced strife.Losing ourselves in times of despair. Becoming self defeatistsof unusual flair. We rush toward the beginning that might bethe end. We sit in the darkness and try to pretend.Pointing fingers while our insides bleed.Committing suicide to fulfill a need.Highly intelligent in a very low way.We speak of existing but have nothing to say.We touch religion and make it seem like hell.But then we touch unholy dreams and wish them well.Faith is replaced with apathy and grief.Indifference is made acceptable and then a belief . Our lefteyes all glitter while our right are blind.We submit to this madness and hope it is kind (...)"

9.3.09

I used seam parts of an old shirt onceagain, sewing them onto white linen - which reminded me of bark - which remindedme of Johnny Cash´s song "Flesh and Blood":"I leaned against a bark of birchAnd I breathed the honey dew.I saw a northbound flock of geese,Against a sky of baby blue.Beside the lily pads,I carved a whistle from a reed.Mother Nature´s quite a lady,but you´re the one I need..."

Then I found a piece of green-blue-yellow-pink silk which Glennis at ShiboriGirl sent me last year (thanks again, in caseyou´re reading...) and made some of it intosprouts, growing from the barren ground...

4.3.09

2.3.09

Yesterday Jude at Spirit Cloth postedsome lovely thoughts about one of the privilegesof aging (NO, not being slowed down by arthrosis -being able to witness decay in a calm and constructiveway...)

Talking about aging - even the Cloth Creaturesseem to be growing up lately.Please meet this new Cloth Lady:

"... Lay, lady, lay, lay across my big brass bedStay, lady, stay, stay while the night is still aheadI long to see you in the morning lightI long to reach for you in the nightStay, lady, stay, stay while the night is still ahead"